


trick

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cute, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>this better not be a trick.</i> or the one where a kiss from bellamy may come with a small price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trick

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted [here](http://finnicks.tumblr.com/post/138332598642/fic-trick). as part of a drabble prompt thing, this was written for cella with the prompt "kiss me." it's _supposed_ to be a drabble, but i clearly don't know how to write those. in comparison to what i usually write, lets just say it is! this works in a future universe. i've been wanting to write a bellamy-initiated kiss, so!
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. ♥

When Bellamy moves, it’s like the entire world tries to push at him at once. With a million hands reaching out to push him back down onto her cot, he stays where he is, slightly winded. He hadn’t even managed to lift his ass off the bed, but he groans like he’s been hit in the chest.

He had been. That’s the whole point of having bandages wrapped around his middle. For some reason, the idiot seems to not understand that.

“You’re bruised, you big baby.” She walks over to him, leg feeling like it’s there, as though she can move it without needing to clutch the edge of her workbench to keep herself steady with how quickly she moves. A hand clutches at her heart, propelling her to move faster, feel nothing but relief when she sees he isn’t being stupid again. “You’re meant to get bedrest.”

He looks up at her and lets out an exasperated sigh. Arching her brow, Bellamy’s face eventually pinches in pain. “I rested. In bed.” He sounds as though he’s in it, even though, sometimes, he’s the best liar around. With a poor sweep of his hand, he gestures to the bed he happens to sit on. The movement causes him to wince.

Shaking her head, she looks at him with intentional pity. Clicking her tongue, she moves closer to him, and crosses her arms against her chest. It doesn’t keep her feeling fairly balanced, but when she doesn’t think about her leg, she knows she’s fine.

When she thinks about him, in pain, she feels as though she’s lost both of her legs. It’s better than dead. She doesn’t want to know how she’d felt when she had believed that for the painfully long minute it took for him to crackle over the radios and inform her he’s just a big idiot.

“You’re not getting up,” she says. With an arrogant tilt to her chin, she knows it’s laced heavily in her tone, “Doctor’s orders.”

He looks up at her, face still slightly pinched. He looks amused. “Since when do you listen to Clarke?”

Narrowing her eyes at him for a moment, her expression relaxes once she realises he’s not about to dive in deep into one of his lecturing speeches. “When it comes to you,” she lifts her shoulder to brush off any of the meaning, “I listen pretty damn hard.”

Bellamy looks down, and she knows he’s wincing again.

“I’m not leaving this room. So, you’re going to have to sit on your ass and recover, Commander.” She smiles around the title. Bellamy breathes in heavily through his nose, like he’s trying to gather all the dust in her workstation to create an argument. “I’ll even forgo the card game.”

He looks up at her pathetically. “I can’t go to that?”

Raven can’t help but laugh. Pressing her lips together, she cocks her head to the side. Despite the mischievousness crawling up her good leg and settling on her back, waiting for her to acknowledge it with a challenge toward him, his recovery is important. So, she forgoes it.

He needs to get better. She wants him to not crack a rib or burst anymore blood vessels by trying to rise to a challenge that’s only going to make him worse.

Moving, she sits beside him. It takes some effort, unfolding her arms to lower herself. Regardless of how his chest may pinch and burn, she feels his arm around her back, acting as a backrest for her in case she tips over.

Purposefully, she leans into him. Intentionally lets her leg brush against his own and stay that way.

Nudging him with her elbow, she says, “Not until you’re feeling better.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, glancing away.

Believing she’s won, she smiles fondly, “We can have our own card games.” And even though she’s the loser during most of those games, it’s with warmth she acknowledges them, even admits her defeat when he thinks to use her vulnerability against her. Admitting she was ticklish whenever he touched her had been the biggest regret of her life.

He moves on the bed. When she lifts her gaze to him, she feels her face heat for a moment. Looking at her with an incredulous arch to his brow, she laughs. Without an edge of sharpness to her voice, she leans toward him and insists, “I’m serious. I’m getting better after Octavia’s lessons.”

He remains quiet for a moment. Looking around her workstation, as though searching for a way to see the weekly card game, he turns back to her. She waits, knowing he’s pausing on purpose. For dramatic effect, or to mull over what he wants to say, she feels her foot begin to tap on the ground.

Turning back to her, she finds herself unable to look away. Beginning to count his freckles, she gets to ten before he speaks again. “I know how I can feel better.”

“How?”

With a straight face, he says, “Kiss me.”

Raven laughs, leaning away from him, and shoves his shoulder. “You’re high.”

Leaning forward, as if chasing her, he insists, “Come on.”

Cocking her eyebrow, she looks at him. He leans back, eyebrows raised, and a funny little smirk sits on his lips. It’s a challenge, and though it’s one she’s too eager to accept, there’s always strings that come with Bellamy acknowledging he likes any sort of affection. From tricking her into leaving her workstation so they could swap out her old and dilapidated workbench for a new one, to leading her outside beneath the stars after she’d lost her will to stand tall, she knows that there’s a string of some colour lying on the ground, meant to lead her astray so he can do something stupid.

Sobering, she looks at him intently. Her eyebrow remains arched when she questions, “Is this a trick?”

He shakes his head.

“This better not be a trick.”

Bellamy sighs and rolls his eyes. Feeling his hand beneath her chin, his other on her good leg, he leans forward. He murmurs, “Not a trick.” The tip of his nose brushes against her own, and she can already feel the warmth of the upward curve of his mouth heat her own into mirroring the shape.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to insist the pain medication he’s on has changed him into a wanton man, but he burns it right from her when he slants his mouth along her own. Her hand lifts to touch his cheek gently, feeling the constellation of freckles on his cheekbone warm her as she smiles.

It still counts as a trick.


End file.
